


Serve

by Desdimonda



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bunny Mammon, F/M, High Heels, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Reader-Insert, Spontaneous sex, Worship, adoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23909644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: You drag Mammon into the store-room for a little break.
Relationships: Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 284





	Serve

Mammon collides with the wall, the bow at his neck flattening as your hand presses, tight, against his chest, a finger almost lost between his pecs as it glides down. And down. A golden claw catching his shirt, plucking another button open.

“I-I need to serve drinks,” he says, glancing through the crack in the door towards the bar, a throng of people waiting for attention. Lucifer was busy on the floor, all eyes following him as he walked, tail lit up by the lights. It wasn’t a real protest, but he wanted to pull, hoping you would resist.

“No,” you say, ripping free the last button of his shirt with a clink. “I need to serve _you_.”

He bites down, quelling a moan at your words, latching their lust around his neck like a leash. Fixed.

His fang almost draws blood the harder he bites, for your touch moves. Claws. Until it meets his belt, the strain against his trousers impossibly hard. So you press. Palm to cock, rubbing fabric to skin; skin so hot you can feel it against your hand. His shape, his length, his need, as it twitches-

- _begging._

You answer with your body, pinning him in place as he begins to move against the wall. Restless. Whiny. Your eyes meet his neck, and you can see the way his heart beats, for you; you can feel him breathe, and you catch it, in a kiss, tip toes slipping against his boots.

“Are you going to keep quiet?” you ask, moving against him once. Twice.

More.

Your palm circles his clothed cock, and for a little, you grind too. Your damp underwear slipping against your knuckles, his trousers, pulling a scrambled word past his lips. You kiss it away. 

“Are you?” you ask again to the corner of his mouth as your other hand toys with the bow at his neck, catching strands of white.

“Yes,” he whispers back, the blue in his eyes twinkling his promise.

“Good bunny,” you drawl, stroking one of his long ears before you drop to your knees, dragging golden nails down his bared chest, making sure he watches as you slip down, down-

- _down_.

But as your hands cradle his crotch, fingers unhooking his belt, you pause, looking _up._

Achingly slow, you unzip his trousers, both hands following the motion, but your hands don’t stop. They glide down his legs, dragging over the thigh strap, pulling once with a _snap._ It stays.

You continue, dragging against the fine fabric until you cradle a boot. Polished and pristine, the golden heel catching the lick of light that creeps through the cracked door. Even now you can smell the leather of the boots. And gently, you lift.

You lift the toe to your lips, and you kiss, your eyes looking up to make sure he’s looking down.

Mammon’s hands are braced against the wall, knuckles white, fingers bent, as he watches you from your knees; wide eyed in wonder, the tip of his cock, twitching.

The gold trim is cold against your lips as you kiss along the bridge of his foot, and cradle that heel, higher than you expected, hard enough to hurt.

“Keep these on tonight,” you moan through a kiss. They’re trailing up his leg now with your hands, as if counting the steps back up towards their peak. 

He nods, mouth open, closed, but all sound gone; all words tucked away beneath a wicked tongue.

“Speechless?” you breathe against his cock as you roll down his trousers, his underwear. 

A blush, bright enough it pushed through the dim light they’d left behind. He touches your hair, now; you were close enough, hovering an ache away from his cock, the tip damp. But not from you.

“Mammon behaves,” he says with a stutter, and you almost come. A small phrase that’d only brush your ears, falls lightly into the stockroom, and you reward him with a kiss.

Lips surround his tip, and your tongue curls away the damp. You suck, pulling on the swollen skin, and he almost crumbles. He pulls your hair with one hand, the other pressed tightly against the wall, claws indenting the stone.

You do it again, and he whines, a heel scratching over the stone, gold glinting as he steadies his body before it falls, for you.

Imprinted, you press your hands against his stomach to hold him, taut, curving with his back as you move. Lips know where to touch, wrapped tightly around a cock that tastes familiar. His tip hits the back of your throat, and again, and once more, and you gently push down, devouring him, his thickness sucking away your breath, seconds, seconds, before you pull back, and hear a defiant ‘ _fuck’._

Dust crumbles from the wall where he holds, and you’re sure you’ve lost a strand or few. But it only makes you move faster.

Hungrier.

Click. His heel grinds the floor. Stamp. It connects, _desperate._

You growl against his cock as the tip meets your throat again, and with a swift hand, you pin his foot in place, fingers nipping around the leather, remembering where you’d kissed it before.

“I-I-”

He stumbles, before biting back his lips as he throws back his head, his long bunny ears bouncing above his white hair. Then again as he moves, writhing against the wall, your hair firmly fixed in both hands now, as you kneel to a body succumbed to desperation, to desire.

You were going to question him, gently chide him, but you can’t stop. The heat of his cock against your tongue makes you _raw_. And you move against it, with it, as if it’s the first time you’ve tasted it, engulfing it with lips that Mammon would have devour him whole, if only you asked.

He huffs, groans, ears askew as he looks down at you, desperate to see you as the first and last visage of his climax. And you are, as in an instant, his body pushed roughly from the wall, his cock hitting the back of your throat, he comes, spilling so much of his seed in your mouth, so full of his cock, that it spills down your lips, pearly against the strip of dancers light.

You lick, feeling him shudder as he pulls away. But you catch his tip for a last kiss, covering your tongue in his bitter bite.

He’s arched away from the wall, slouched, your hand still pinning his boot to the floor, and you shift, sitting on it, leaning languid against his leg, as you look up, up, and watch, drawing a hand over his stomach as the last waves of his orgasm, touch, his eyes firmly fixed on you. _You._

You lick.

“Back to work.” The words are wet against his stomach, and you stand, buttoning his shirt.


End file.
